


Benchfellows

by boltlightning



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII Remake - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Missing Scene, bodyguard dynamic, cloud is tired and aerith is a wellspring of energy, flowers ahoy, partners in ass-kicking, scene from the remake; you don't need to play it to understand tho!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:15:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23791429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boltlightning/pseuds/boltlightning
Summary: Cloud finds a moment of respite underneath Wall Market.
Relationships: Aerith Gainsborough/Cloud Strife
Comments: 5
Kudos: 157





	Benchfellows

The flowers that the colosseum gatekeeper brings them are paper.

Cloud watches with guarded eyes as Aerith touches their delicate petals. From a distance, they pass as real, but Aerith’s fingers have spent too long cultivating their living counterparts to be satisfied. She plucks an orange flower from a bouquet on the table and holds it to Cloud, who takes it from her without thinking.

“They sound different,” she says softly. Truly, the petals scratch against each other unpleasantly as Cloud twirls the paper stem between his fingers, but he does not think that sound is the one she speaks of.

Their moment is interrupted as Madame M pushes open the creaky door to their break room. She fans herself daintily, but the tension of the hand at her hip and the scowl on her face belies her temper. 

“Corneo is having you fight another round,” she tells them. “What that man is thinking, I will never know.”

“But we _won,_ ” Aerith insists. She stands ramrod straight, tense from her shoulders to her feet. “Do they want us to die?”

Madame M meets her gaze calmly. “What the don wants, the don gets,” she says mildly. “Be safe out there. You know what’s on the line.”

Aerith swivels to look at Cloud. She had been so confident walking through the streets of Wall Market, but she has quickly learned its insidious truth; nothing is as it seems, and her keen insight into human emotion did not seem to work here. Cloud sighs and pushes himself off the wall.

“We do,” Cloud says shortly. _Tifa is on the line._ “Whatever he throws at us, we can handle.”

The look Madame M throws him is doubtful, but when she begins to fan herself again, her expression has changed to something else — pride? Hope? “I hope you do, lovebirds. For all of our sakes.” And she wafts away, leaving a trail of her herbaceous perfume behind.

Aerith has returned to arranging the flowers, pulling them from the bouquet to sort them by color. Suddenly weary, Cloud runs a hand over his face, clicks his sword from its latch, and leans it against the wall. He drops heavily onto the provided bench.

The mako in his blood healed all his wounds quickly, more so with Aerith’s help, but it does not combat the exhaustion. Cloud is running on fumes. Just that morning, he had confronted Shinra in the middle of an exploding mako reactor, then fallen 10 stories into Aerith’s church and spent the afternoon building a name for himself in Sector 5. He had closed his eyes for maybe an hour in the safety of Aerith’s home that evening, only to remember that her mother had told him, in no uncertain terms, to get out before daybreak.

Goodness, he is tired.

When he lifts his eyes, he notes that Aerith has sat next to him. She crosses one leg over the other and leans back, wringing her hands in her lap. “Are you ok?” she asks softly, and meets his eyes.

“I’m fine.” A non-answer; as always, Aerith sees right through it. He lolls his head back and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Just...tired. It’s been a long day.”

“Yes,” she agrees. “I’ll watch the door, if you want a few minutes of peace.”

He considers against it — they could be talking strategy, or hedging bets on what demon from hell Corneo would release upon them. But the overriding thought is _what’s the point?_ Doubtless it will be some maniac with an axe to grind, or a previously inconceivable monster. Cloud folds his arms over his chest and bobs his head.

“It...would be nice to rest,” he admits.

“Typical bodyguard,” Aerith chides lightly. “Sleeping on the job. Though I suppose in the colosseum, we’re more...partners. But your duties haven’t changed!”

Cloud cracks open a single eyelid and looks at her sideways, a silent plea in his eyes. Aerith catches his gaze and leans back on the bench. 

“Sleep well, partner.”

“Thanks, partner,” he mumbles, before closing his eyes and relishing the dark that numbs his oncoming migraine. 

Cloud does not realize that Aerith had leaned against him until the bell rings to announce their next match, and Aerith leaps to her feet. She leaves a trail of the scent of her fresh flowers and the sweet richness of soil. The residual warmth on his arm is fleeting, but comforting — Cloud finds himself wishing they had more time.

 _More time in this dank dungeon, waiting for your execution?_ he scolds himself, with a firm shake of his head to clear the sleep from his eyes. _Get it together, Strife._

The mako in his blood stirs as well, and wakefulness comes slowly. Aerith smiles as she holds the door for him. She tucks a paper flower into his suspender before they approach the gate. “For luck,” she says sardonically. “This one’s on the house.”

When she takes his hand to hasten his steps, he does not pull it away.


End file.
